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But Xavier only says with an easy smile, “I am home, Dad.”
Pritchard gives a half-roll of his eyes and puts his napkin down on the table after wiping his mouth. “Be serious. Your mother and I indulged you long enough with this horse farm fantasy, but it’s time to grow up. Especially now that you’ll be starting a family—” He gestures in my direction.
“Leave Melanie out of this,” Xavier says. It’s shocking to hear him use my name. I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard him even say it out loud.
“I won’t change my mind on this, Dad. You need to let it go. I left that path a long time ago.”
Pritchard exhales loudly and sits back in his chair. “Why? That’s what I don’t understand. Sure, what happened over there was unfortunate but it wasn’t your fault—”
“Stop.” Xavier’s voice is cold.
“No, I won’t stop,” his father continues earnestly. “I’ve talked to some
doctors and they say you have all the classic symptoms of PTSD and survivor’s guilt. But it wasn’t your fault all those people died. You weren’t even directly involved in the Quran burnings. You just happened to be in command of those men.”
“Stop.” Xavier’s jaw is working and I can tell he’s barely managing his usually easy control.
His father just continues on, though, oblivious or too desperate to press the subject, I can’t tell. “Then with the insanity of the riot— I understand. Really, I do. I know you find it difficult to believe, but in Vietnam I—”
“You were a REMF in ‘Nam, Dad,” Xavier explodes, standing up and pushing his chair back. I startle and grab the table’s edge. I’ve never seen him so worked up apart from the moments right after one of his nightmares.
“Just like you tried to make me in Afghanistan. Station the boy in the center of a green zone at a big air base so he can get some military experience,” Xavier spits out the words mockingly. “Looks great for the future political career but keep him safe from any of the actual shit of war. Well, guess what, Dad? My fancy Ivy League education didn’t help me when the protestors were at the gate throwing acid at anyone wearing a military uniform. And I was one of the fucking lucky ones. I came home with a fucking heartbeat.”
Oh my God!
“Xavier,” I cry, stepping forward.
The rain has been picking up and thunder rumbles so loud, it seems to shake the house. Or maybe that’s just everything that’s been revealed in the last few minutes.
Xavier yanks back from me. “I’ve gotta go check on the horses. Stay here.”
He turns and stomps out the door, grabbing his coat and hat before slamming it behind him.
Xavier’s father sits down heavily in his chair at the table and sinks his head in his hands. I wonder just how old he is and if Xavier isn’t wrong about his motivations for coming here. Sure, he might still have political aspirations for his son—you don’t get to his position in American politics without being an extremely motivated man… but maybe he just wants his son back, too.
Men. I sigh, thinking of how my own father spent his life trying to protect me because he loved me but ended up screwing things up so royally.
Why couldn’t he have just said the words?
I love you.
Three simple words that seem so impossible for these emotionally stunted men.
The words Xavier has yet to say to me.
I walk toward the door, looking at Xavier’s retreating shape through the heavy sheets of rain. I press my hand to the glass. More than anything, I want to run after him but I have the feeling he needs to be alone.
I turn back and look at his dad. “So what exactly happened? There were protests at the airbase? And,” I gulp down tears, “someone threw acid at him?”
Pritchard looks up at me, bags that I didn’t notice before heavy underneath his eyes. “He’s right. I did send him there because I thought it would look good for his career. But if I’d had any idea.” His face crumbles and he looks away from me. “If I’d known it would have lost me my son…” His voice trails off.
After a few long seconds, he finally continues, still facing away from me. “He went to Afghanistan as a commissioned officer, a lieutenant. He was a good officer. He was always a natural leader. Probably why we got into as many scuffles as we did during his growing up.”
He shakes his head. “He was only there two months when it happened. Barely enough time to get his feet wet and no chance at all to really get a feel for the place. No one blamed him.”
“What happened?” I press.
“He was stationed at the detention center at the base. Not a top position but he had responsibility enough. He was smart and he discovered that Taliban prisoners were using their religious text as a means of communicating with each other. They were writing notes in the margins of the Qurans in the prisoner’s library. Xavier reported it and had his men remove the Qurans.”
